The Lady of Shallot
by Magic Crafter
Summary: The Britons want Arthur to be their king, but Guinevere may not be his Queen after he meets a young woman named Elaine... Arthur/Guinevere
1. So It Begins

**A/N: **Based on the Lancelot/Elaine relationship. Only with…Arthur.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing!

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"He shall be made king."

The voice drifted towards her, but she kept the same blank, bored expression. She was staring out into the distance; her own tongue sounded foreign as it fell from Merlin's mouth. _He…king… _There was, of course, only one person he could be speaking of. Arthur. A dreamy sigh fell from her lips. Her pulse sped up a little. He may have his own savior, but she knew one thing for certain: _he_ was _hers_.

Memories floated on the breeze of Merlin's voice, intertwining with the words and overwhelming them.

_The snow was almost blinding, but as she sat there, huddled in a borrowed wool blanket, bruised and broken and stripped of her pride, Guinevere had watched him carefully as he rode beside the sorry shelter. Artorios Castus, a great Roman general, like his father before him. Arthur, they called him. He struck her as more a Briton than a Roman, however. His hair was cropped in short, dark waves and he had no beard, the Roman fashion. Still, it was the spirit and grit of the land she saw in him that made her heart swell. Arthur's mother had been a Briton, and by the old ways, the mother- right, that made Arthur as good as one as well._

"Guinevere."

It was not a question and she looked up from her daydreams, surprised. Merlin was gazing intently down at her, his black eyes glinting in the firelight. The smoke was almost as thick as the snow had been. A bemused smile played across her face. "Yes?"

Was that amusement or annoyance in his expression? It was difficult to say, and most likely a combination of both. "Have you been listening? I am concerned you do not fully understand me, my daughter. Arthur stands in a good position to be made King."

"King of what, precisely? You know the Britons, Merlin, and they are loyal only to their land." She made a face. "I care deeply for Arthur, but he is part of the Roman past. I do not think anyone would accept him, certainly not as a _king_." As the Britons mistrusted even themselves, Guinevere had difficulty seeing how they would place their trust in Arthur, as good and sweet and humble as he was. Oh, if only they would, it would be lovely to see Arthur thus rewarded…

_For he is _their_ savior, too, and I believe they must realize that._

She did prefer not to think of Badon Hill, and did so now only to put her mind at ease. Arthur was as fine a man as could be found, but he was no king. He would not want it any more than the Britons would want him.

Merlin's creased face with its blue-paint was looking grim. She did not appreciate his pessimism any more than he appreciated her nonchalance. However, Guinevere wondered if he could understand just how she was feeling. Her loyalties now divided, she had much less time than she would have liked to spend among her people – Arthur still did not care for the man who had served as her adopted father for many years now. Merlin would never completely right his wrongs, at least not in Arthur's book. That being said, "I would truly enjoy my time here best without you lecturing me on how seriously I should be taking this situation, my dear Merlin."

_Therein lies the irony, _Guinevere reminded herself. _I am _always _quite serious, and my humor is sarcastic and dark. Yet now, I have Arthur to be my sun, and everything has changed._

His face fell and he appeared to be dismayed. "So you do not understand," he murmured. "If Arthur is king, my dear, he will need to secure himself a queen…and then secure the kingdom, though perhaps not in that order." Yes, the kingdom was secure…but not secure enough. Guinevere had a good argument when she said that Britannia would not be overly ready to see an overlord like a High King in power.

Guinevere actually couldn't help but giggle like a delighted child. "Oh, I see. I would not be…_prepared_, is it? Merlin, should Arthur truly be made King, why would I not be delighted to be Queen by his side?"

To her amazement, he looked more somber still, and strode over to her. He placed his hand on the top of her head gently, trying to smile. Merlin was a very soft-spoken, mysterious man, but at that moment, she read his eyes perfectly. He was every inch paternal distress. She wished she could fathom _why. _"Merlin!" Guinevere cried, exasperated. "Will you not reveal this secret to me and stop gazing on me as though I might die within moments? Please, I must know why you believe me to be so ill-suited to this position."

Another moment of silence passed, and she feared he would not tell her at all. Then he spoke. "The clans here are viciously envious of one another, Guinevere. They will all seek to stake claim in this new regime…and I know how you and Arthur feel about each other, but think of Arthur's position. Must not he do what is best for Britannia?"

_Oh. Oh, gods. Arthur might cast me aside for a woman he does not love?_

Guinevere's mouth was dry. She wished she had Arthur's thick, familiar ruby-red cloak to draw around her shoulders, for though the cabin was quite warm, she felt a shudder pass through her. More were sure to follow.

_Oh gods._

If she lost Arthur, she would lose _everything_. Being in love was akin to playing with fire, and this was one game she would choose to win. "Merlin – if I was to send for him…if we might wed here, now, secretly, and…" Guinevere's voice died on her tongue as she realized how impossible it was. They could not afford civil war among the Britons, lest the Saxons or some other tribe come and conquer them. To be the cause of that, simply for the sake of her own personal happiness, was truly unfathomable to Guinevere. The land had, before she had fallen in love with the tall, wise Roman leader, been that _everything_ that she would dread to lose…and even basking in Arthur's glow, she could not forget how much her Britannia meant to her.

Guinevere began again. "Merlin…do you know…_who_?"

A shadow shrouded his face. She had expected him to say no, that it was impossible to say just what young lady might usurp her rightful place in Arthur's affections – or at his side. Yet that is not what he said, to Guinevere's dismay.

"Yes…her name is Elaine."

_Elaine._ Guinevere's mind could hardly process the concept, much less putting a name with it, but she began to picture the girl anyway. A slight, simpering thing. Spoiled by her father, no doubt, as his pride. Raised with propriety in mind – sewing, managing the household. Writing verses, even. It disgusted her. She, Guinevere, who had been orphaned early, raised with her parents' people to be courageous and strong – physically and mentally. She, whom the Romans had tortured because she was a dirty pagan and whom Arthur had rescued himself. Her blood almost ran cold. _I am a pagan. What if this…Elaine…is…_

She looked pitifully up at Merlin, hardly making an effort to conceal her heartache. "Merlin – if she is a Christian…if she follows Arthur's God…I fear if that is the case, he will certainly choose her over me." _Wicked temptress!_ Guinevere lashed out. _Get you gone! Arthur is _mine.

Aware she was overreacting, she took a deep breath to steady herself. Arthur had not wed anyone yet, and perhaps he would find Elaine so dull compared to his love that he could never wed her, no matter if all the tribes of Britain united behind him.

"Yes, he may. But she is only a minor regional king's daughter, my child. He may have some support from various tribes in his lands…but you cannot lose hope. I wished only to make you aware. The Picts are no small force, and no one in Britannia can deny that we were also responsible for the Saxons' defeat," Merlin told her in what she supposed was a comforting tone. To anyone else, it might have sounded no different than when he was speaking normally…but Guinevere truly loved Merlin. He was the only father she had left. This news was dreadful, but the young woman felt a surge of pride when he reminded her of the power and influence their people could wield. She could only pray Arthur did not forget that. His love of peace was great…yet Guinevere felt certain marrying her would not _disrupt_ any dreams of peace Arthur might have.

Guinevere stood. The olive-green material of her heavy skirt that had pooled around her feet was slightly wrinkled. She took Merlin's blue-painted face in her hands and kissed his forehead. He smiled; it made his eyes all but vanish.

"I hope to see you soon, my father," she murmured.

Merlin embraced her so tightly she felt he might crush her ribs, and then released her, touching her brow again gently. "Go with the gods' blessings, daughter."

Eager to return to Hadrian's Wall – and Arthur – before this Elaine creature slipped into her vacated place both there and in his heart, she practically ran from the hut to her waiting horse. She kissed the lad who had been attending him on the cheek, smiled, and swung her leg up onto the stallion's back. It didn't take more than a nudge to his side to spur him forward, and she hugged his handsome chestnut neck as he wove through the trees. Seeing her beloved Arthur again was the only thing on her mind. She did not even give thought to how she would arrive. Her feet were muddy, her clothes smelled heavily of smoke, her face was grey from sitting with Merlin, and her dark hair was tousled almost irreparably.

Her grey-blue eyes, however, were quite alive. They sparked ferociously…protectively.

When Guinevere arrived, she did not mark how much time had passed on her journey. She leapt down from her stallion, pleased to see Arthur was there, outside, waiting for her – or so she thought. Bors grinned and waved and came over to escort her sweat-covered stallion back to the stables. Guinevere herself flew towards Arthur, stopping just in front of him. "Have you missed me, Arthur?" she asked, teasingly, and reached out to take his hand.

"So this is your beloved," a high, childish female voice sang.

The blonde creature from Guinevere's vision appeared, only twice as lovely, a virtual goddess – or "angel" she supposed, for Arthur. She felt suddenly ill. Elaine's braided golden hair was neat, her powder-blue gown flattering and low-cut. She was everything Guinevere was not…including, it would seem, kind.

Arthur looked on the verge of disgust himself, and Guinevere happily laced her fingers through his own. He drew her closer and she glared menacingly at Elaine.

"Yes," Arthur said. "This is Guinevere."

_And so it begins._


	2. Arthur’s Angel

_Sorrow beheld her face -  
False love supplying grace.  
Knowing Arthur's fights  
And his trusted knights  
Meant more than his Queen..._

- Rick Wakeman, "Guinevere"

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**A/N:** This chapter's not my best writing…but I wanted to get it out of the way so I could move on with the story. As a side note, I happened to see on IMDb that yesterday was Clive Owen's 44th birthday. So, happy birthday Clive. '

**Disclaimer: **Nothing belongs to me, just the idea.

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The coldness in Elaine's blue eyes could have rivaled the heaviest snowfall. As the frigid gaze swept over her, Guinevere could not help but shudder. Perhaps it would have been prudent to take more time in her preparations. She felt incredibly mediocre, at least in her looks, when standing beside this _pristine_ creature. Still, it was rather obvious to Guinevere that Elaine was not so pristine on the inside. She could already tell that the girl was something of a snob, and that, Guinevere decided, would never do for the people of Britannia. They deserved better than some regional princess who was probably half-Roman anyway.

"Lady Guinevere…a pleasure. Please, let me introduce myself – Arthur has told me _all_ about you."

_I am sorry, Elaine. You will not take the upper hand by placing yourself above me. You are not on Arthur's pedestal. You will never be on Arthur's pedestal. He is my light, my harbor, my love. He will never, _never _be yours._

She put on the most convincing smile that was, under the circumstances, possible. "There is no need, Lady Elaine. My father has already done the honor. I admit that I was not quite…expecting you."

Little Elaine tittered. "Oh, did Arthur not tell you? My father wanted to meet him for himself…and he let me accompany him. Your father must be a wise man indeed to know ahead of time something that Arthur neglected to mention!" She seemed to think Arthur's silence had been out of coldness towards the woman he claimed to love. Guinevere begged to differ. She kept her expression cool.

"If Arthur has so extensively informed you about me, Lady Elaine, you should be able to tell me."

Guinevere had not thought it possible that the rosy yet pale cheeks of could drain of any more color; they were, she supposed, pink with her supposed triumph. This challenge was proving that she was a liar, and in front of the man she most wanted to impress. No woman with any sense would be happy with that. Guinevere almost – almost – felt sorry for the girl. Had she any idea what she was getting herself into? If Arthur became king, he would have more to worry about than pampering his wife. She did not desire Arthur's pampering – though he treated her as though she were made of glass – only his love…which she had. What did little Elaine know of love?

Elaine stammered, and then the color returned to her delicate face with a vengeance. "Well," she began, "well, perhaps he has not told me…_all_ about you."

This satisfied Guinevere…for now. This child had to be put in her place. She could not understand the depth of what Guinevere felt for Arthur. In a way, she supposed it truly was like what he must feel for his God. Arthur meant her salvation. Arthur meant her freedom. Why would she love anyone else? "You spoke to soon, Lady Elaine. I forgive you. I am the daughter of Merlin."

It was not the whole truth…but again, Elaine paled. Paranoia had clouded her sapphire eyes. She took one tentative step away from them, and satisfaction welled up within Guinevere. _Yes, yes, little Elaine. You would do well to fear that name._

Arthur scowled a little, yet he seemed to be indulgent of her little game. Perhaps he had caught onto Elaine's shameless flirtations and brazen attempts to lower Guinevere's importance, even within the few moments they had been there together. She glanced up at him and smiled faintly, knowing she could not deceive Elaine completely. Lying in Arthur's presence felt more acute and criminal than when she lied around anyone else. He was that kind of man: upright and honest, the best there was to be found, whether in Britannia or Rome. _And I know, my love, that you are not fond of Merlin, so for you, I will amend myself,_ her gaze seemed to say.

"Merlin – that…that dirty, horrible, heathen _warlock! _He is your_ father?_" Elaine shrieked then, unable to contain her disgust and horror any longer. The glint in her eyes when she looked at Guinevere now was something animal. To preserve her own self-worth, Elaine must defeat the Pict's daughter. That was what Guinevere read in her rival's face as plainly as though it was written there.

A casual, bemused smile lit Guinevere's dirt-stained face. _Be careful, Elaine. _"Forgive me, Lady Elaine, have I frightened you? My _true_ father died long ago…but there could be little difference if I were, in fact, Merlin's daughter by birth."

The relief on Elaine's face struck her as comical; Arthur did not see it that way. His handsome face was stony. "Forgive me, my love, I think it is high time we let our guests dine with us so that they may rest," he murmured softly, just loud enough to be perceived by Elaine, whose breath was coming more evenly now. Her eyes had become docile, that haughtily better-than-thou glint returning to them. She had donned the façade of being confident in her ability to displace Guinevere; Guinevere herself was willing to say that the girl was anything but confident.

Guinevere had no intention of leaving her beloved alone with this monster. She would resort to anything, no doubt, to win him over. Nodding, she squeezed Arthur's hand tightly within her own: _and you know I will not let you out of my sight, so you will come with me._

If Arthur realized how horrible Elaine was, surely he would not let her out of his ever-protective gaze, either.

He bowed stiffly to Elaine. "You can find your way back to the chambers you have been provided I hope, my lady," he said, polite as ever. Guinevere wondered fondly of he was ever rude to anyone who was not threatening him or one whom he cared for with death. _Well, he was certainly rude to Merlin…and to those Romans who chose to torture those who do not share their beliefs. _While she looked both surprised and displeased, even offended, there was (in Guinevere's mind) little she could say that would not label her an incompetent child, hardly ready to be the wife of a man who could potentially become King of Britannia. Hadrian's Wall, in truth, was not terribly complex.

Her curtsy to Arthur was much showier and (seemingly) more heartfelt. "I am sure I will be able to manage, thank you. I look forward to seeing you at dinner, Lord Arthur. And you, Lady Guinevere." Her smile was incredibly false, and as she trounced away, blue skirts swaying, Guinevere found herself unable to conceal a noise of disgust.

Arthur actually laughed, though she idid/i wish he stopped looking so grim. It made her uncomfortable. While he was not always quick to laugh – or, thank goodness, to anger – he had scarcely smiled since she had arrived, though she supposed this Elaine girl was plenty of excuse for that. His expression and demeanor suggested to Guinevere she had little to fear, at least where Arthur's heart was concerned. The politics might be a different matter, but Merlin's confident words had comforted her. Why should these regional tribes and kings wield any more influence than her own people? Look how fearful Elaine herself had been when Guinevere had mentioned Merlin himself! It made her glow with a sudden and perhaps premature sense of triumph. Arthur would not break her heart, nor his own; he would marry her. They would be happy.

"Please, say you did not spend enough time in the company of that demon to have told her much about me at all, Arthur," she implored, only half-teasing. The more often he was around Elaine, the less-certain the outcome would be.

When he finally smiled, it was reassuring. He pulled her into his arms briefly and kissed her soot-stained cheek. "I could not keep from mentioning you…and she was curious. I kept the description as concise and accurate as possible. You are…" Arthur stepped back, holding her at arm's length, "beautiful and brave and talented, and I love no other. Does that suit you, Gwen?"

Guinevere found that she was blushing, and she swatted his hand away from her upper arm playfully. "Yes, save for that you neglected to mention how iutterly/i overprotective you are. You do spoil me."

He fell silent, and she wished she had said nothing. Reminding him of how he'd found her – forgotten and alone, dying a truly miserable death in a Roman dungeon – was not wise. It would only compound his need to shield her from harm, when she truly did not need that. That she had been tortured and captured at all had been chance. With Arthur by her side, nothing of that nature would befall Guinevere again. She had no fear of anything…yet she did fear Elaine, and Elaine's potential to displace her.

"You have made it quite impossible for me to feign illness and avoid Elaine's company…so I suppose I ought to ready myself to dazzle all the men. Except for Bors and Gawain and Galahad; they shall do little more than laugh at me, I fear." Still, Guinevere was wary to let Arthur out of her sight. A brilliant idea came to her; she grinned like a child who has come up with a new way to get into trouble. "You ought to come with me, my love, to make sure I am truly…dazzling." She reached out and snatched his hand, not wishing to give him the opportunity to protest (would he do such a thing?) or flatter her further (which he would.)

The crowded streets and pathways cleared easily for the couple; most people respected Arthur, and some were truly in awe of them, but many saw the determined light in Guinevere's eyes and realized that she was a woman with a purpose and would not be deterred. She wove through the maze to her own chamber fairly easily. It was larger than any she'd enjoyed before, with a small but comfortable bed and an enormous trunk which Arthur had filled with gowns she rarely wore. Guinevere could not be bothered much with all of that, not on a day-to-day basis. She preferred simple materials that could stand wear and tear, not expensive, luxurious fabrics imported through Rome from far-away places. But a rich emerald sheen caught her eye, and she seized the gown, lifting it from the trunk (which was still open from her preparation to visit Merlin). Holding it against her slender figure, Guinevere moved to face Arthur.

He was staring at her intently, again with that indulgent air, like she had been indulged all such pleasures before. Truly, though, this was not a pleasure…it was a game that she was determined to win, and to win, you had to be the best. Elaine had met her match in Guinevere…hopefully.

Any modest woman would have told Arthur to shield his eyes for the sake of their honor, but bittersweet memories of the dark and troubled night before Badon Hill drifted back to her, and she decided not to bother. If they were truly going to be married, false modesty was not going to get her anywhere. Guinevere simply turned so that her back was to him and stripped to her rough linen shift, which was, thankfully, clean. The heat of Arthur's gaze was almost tangible as she slipped her arms and head through the appropriate holes, and he automatically reached to lace the back up so the bodice fit snugly.

The washing bowl, water and one coarse towel, sat forlorn and unused, but this once, Guinevere did use it, trying to ignore the awful silence which bore down on them. She could think of no appropriate conversation, but truly wished she could. Modest or not, Arthur's bright blue eyes were completely distracting her from the task at hand. Funny. The whole point was to make sure he kept looking at her so longingly. _Stop distracting yourself, Guinevere,_ her mind admonished.

She raked her hands through the tangled raven hair that tumbled just past her shoulderblades and flinched as she did so. Well…it couldn't be helped. Guinevere hadn't the patience to dismiss Arthur and call a lady in and play the part of a proper woman who was not desperate to stay within a few feet of her beloved. Her slim fingers expertly converted the mess into a hurried braid. It was too much like Elaine's to be truly satisfactory, but she would simply have to be satisfied. There was no time for anything else. _Why the rush?_ Nor, she noted, did she have time to debate with herself the reason for her eagerness to return to Elaine's company. Clearly, she was guilty of the same sort of arrogance at that moment as she had found so distasteful in Elaine. Hopefully, it would be used only for the good: showing this insufferable girl she could not impede on their lives.

"What is the verdict, my lord? Am I dazzling?" Guinevere murmured, knowing she was not and knowing that he would say she was all the same.

Arthur reached out and took both her hands in his. "You never cease to be dazzling, my love." Then he lifted one of his hands from hers abruptly, stroking her pale cheek. The look that had suddenly overcome him was so tender; it hurt for Guinevere to keep her eyes on his. "Guinevere, I would never take Elaine as my wife, not if her people controlled the whole continent. God has sent one of his angels for me already."

Again, she found her cheeks stained pink. She had few problems with Arthur being a Christian – but must he drag her into the matter? His sentiment was a lovely one, or would have been, had she not felt a sudden stab of fear. The thought drifted back to her from earlier that afternoon: _what if Elaine is a Christian?_

Gently, Guinevere pushed him away. Her smile was forced. "Believe what you will, my love, but an angel I am not." It would be foolish to quarrel over such a thing when she was already terrified that losing Arthur was becoming a very real possibility, no matter what he said. She squeezed the hand she still held; running her thumb across the rough skin in what she hoped was a soothing manner. "Now, we shall be late and your knights will presume far too much."

That at least was true, and Guinevere let out a breath when he chuckled slightly. No doubt he could not deny that they were rather rakish men, the lot of them – Bors in particular. She wondered if she might get lucky enough to have Elaine fall passionately in love with Galahad or Gawain, though she was not particularly fond of Galahad herself – he was a rather grim, humorless man, she thought. He reminded her a little of their fallen companion Lancelot…but all the same, he was not Lancelot, nor could he hope to replace him. Losing his best friend had left some invisible scar on Arthur that Guinevere still wished she could heal. Whenever she attempted to speak of Lancelot or Badon Hill, however, she found that she would run out of words, if Arthur did not stop her before that could happen. _And a pity he is not here, for he was the most handsome and rakish of all of them,_ Guinevere thought sadly. Elaine would not have looked twice at Arthur, she was sure, if Lancelot was there to be had. Guinevere herself found it a relief, in one way, that the dark knight was not there as a temptation to lure her from Arthur's side.

Silently, Arthur led the way out of her chamber. She wondered if he thought of Lancelot often…if he called his old friend to mind whenever she mentioned "his knights". The handsome, brooding face filled her mind as they walked down the dank corridor and she had to shake her head to clear it. They reached the dining hall too quickly for her liking; Arthur swung the door open and she only reluctantly followed him.

As usual, the assembled men did not begin to fill the immense circle of a table. The only unfamiliar male there, who she assumed to be Elaine's father, stared dumbly around him. The look of astonishment on his face amused Guinevere. No one seeing that hall for the first time could believe it: Artorius Castus, great Roman general, insisting on equality? _Oh yes, my dear lord, you will quickly find Arthur is not at all what you expected him to be,_ she thought with satisfaction. _And you will also discover your daughter comes too late: he has his lady._

Then _she_ was shocked, for Elaine, wearing a most smug expression, was sitting beside Arthur's empty chair…while _she_, Guinevere, was the only woman who should occupy that seat!

She had to take a deep breath to steady herself. "Lady Elaine…let me offer my deep apologies for my state this afternoon; I had not realized you would be here so soon." Guinevere had been ready to order the impertinent child out of her rightful place, but it would be best to put on a good show for the girl's father, as if to say, _do you not see that I am just as cultured as your daughter?_

Arthur glanced at her apprehensively, but she only smiled; he knew she would rail about Elaine's cheek later. For the time being, she moved away from him, choosing to sit in between Bors and Gawain. Both men looked fairly surprised, but then they grinned at one another. She was sure the dinner would be a competition between the two of them: who could flirt the most boldly with Arthur's woman? Thankfully _Bors'_ woman was not present…then again, it was not as if Guinevere had any designs on the burly knight's attentions.

Elaine did not reply to her, only simpered; Arthur took his place beside Elaine, greeted their guests, and looked more than ready to eat…and to escape. Guinevere smiled at him sympathetically across the table.

At that moment, Bors lifted his chalice. "A toast!" he cried. "A toast to Arthur and Guinevere." The knight paused, glancing between the two of them. Then he chortled happily. "Many bastards may you have," he added as an afterthought. Guinevere, Arthur, Gawain and Galahad all laughed along with him, understanding what the newcomers did not. Happily noting how Elaine had paled, Guinevere drank deeply. _A fine toast if I ever heard one. _


	3. Ghosts of the Past

**A/N: **I know exactly where I want to go with this story now, so I'm really eager to write the next chapter; this is a short hold-over until I finish that. I hope you all enjoy it, even if there isn't much of it!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, don't sue.

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Dinner was a somewhat rushed affair, in which little politics was actually discussed. Either Elaine's father found it distasteful to do so in front of ladies or he found himself truly at a loss for words. Guinevere imagined it was a bit of both. Elaine simply looked mortified all throughout dinner. She did not once turn to Arthur, barely even spoke to him. Instead, she gazed morosely across the table. Her shock and horror at the shameless flirtations of Arthur's knights she was apparently unable to disguise. The girl shot Guinevere a glance that said _you should discourage them if you love Arthur so._

Guinevere smiled in return, her special triumphant smile. _Jealous, Elaine? You would do the same with Arthur, if you had the courage…you will, no doubt, whenever I am not with him._

She found the meal to be somewhat enjoyable; the wine was not watered down thoroughly enough, and the room was stiflingly hot, causing the satin-like material of her gown to stick against her skin. All of it was going to Guinevere's head, and it caused her to be a little giddy. Her eyes had gone just slightly out of focus. Her cheeks had colored. If the flirtations had been entirely innocent before, as the night wore on, Galahad and Gawain looked at her in a different way: almost hungrily…and Arthur's gaze hardly strayed, the blazing blue eyes remembering their stolen moments the evening prior to Badon Hill, a meeting which had never truly been resolved these many months. While it would be fair to say that Guinevere glowed by the end of the evening, Elaine simply became more mousy and withdrawn, angrily forced into admitting her opponent was, just then, worthier than she.

Arthur stood when all the dishes had been taken from the table, moving to go around to Guinevere's side, but Elaine caught his arm. "My lord…my lord, will someone not show me to my chambers?" she inquired sweetly.

A skeptical expression crossed his face like a shadow. "Why, my lardy, you seemed to be perfectly capable of doing so yourself this afternoon," he replied coolly. Guinevere had to look away so that no one but Galahad and Gawain could see she was grinning over Elaine's plight. She hardly felt sorry for the girl, whose cheeks had turned a bright, embarrassed pink.

"I – I – my lord, I have never had the honor of visiting Hadrian's Wall before, and it is quite dark. Please…"

Her eyes were large, pleading, almost innocent…they could have fooled Arthur, if Arthur had not already caught onto Elaine's game. Just then, before he could refuse, Elaine's father spoke up. "Yes, Arthur, I really think it's for the best…for my daughter's reputation, you understand. Best not to take any chances." Guinevere felt disgust rising in her throat. She did not have time to watch this woman play the fool that she so obviously was not. People respected Arthur; knowing the girl was under his protection, no one would dare to touch her. What man would want to?

Yet now Arthur could not refuse. He frowned. "Sir Bors' lady –"

Elaine, heedless of any civility, eyed Bors with a suspicious glare, and then shrieked with ill-mannered laughter. "Sir Bors' _lady_," she repeated, "is no lady at all." Bors' face reddened, and Guinevere put a hand against his own to try and calm him. She may have been unkind to Elaine earlier, but there was no call for this.

Before anyone, however, much less her father, could breathe a word in protest, Elaine came around the table, planting herself squarely behind Guinevere. The look flashing in Bors' eyes was murderous, yet she simpered when she spoke. "Forgive me, sir, but I think Lady Guinevere ought to show me the way, if it isn't too much trouble for her." And though Guinevere shot her a look as she turned to face the hideous girl saying plainly that _any _favor done for Elaine was more trouble than it was worth, she appeared to be utterly oblivious. Perhaps she'd seen the looks passing between Arthur and his lady, and decided to intercept them at the source. _Not that your God would let a woman decide how best to use her own body,_ Guinevere thought to herself bitterly.

But if they were going to play Elaine's game…Guinevere's face brightened considerably, as the girl's father turned to look at her. She could practically hear his thoughts: no civilized woman would reject the request, leaving a poor girl to find her way alone. Haughty, ignorant Christians. _Ten of your weak-willed and cowardly people could not equal even one Pict,_ her mind spat fiercely. But she kept her emotions in check. To win this, she had to act and do it well…and she was learning quickly that there, skill was with her.

She stood and watched with slightly narrowed eyes as Elaine floated to her side, moving as slowly and deliberately past Arthur as she could. Then, Guinevere seized her arm, hooking their elbows, and all but dragged the girl out. She did not even have time for a meager good-bye. Guinevere was sending her a message.

_Arthur does not even see you._

Sending it, hoping not to reveal her real intent: _keeping_ Arthur from seeing her. As much as Guinevere trusted him, she knew that men were weak. They indulged themselves in beautiful women. Elaine was, especially by those unfathomable Christian standards of grace, innocence, and true beauty, radiant. If only she was not so miserably ambitious, groveling at the feet of Arthur, begging him to love her so that she might live the life of nobility, that she might be renowned, be…Queen. Guinevere let the thought go, utterly disgusted. Disgusted with herself, even. For whoever won Arthur won all that, though it was not what she sought herself. She merely wanted the man.

They walked in silence until they reached Elaine's appointed chamber. The door was open, ready and waiting for its new – and Guinevere could only pray, temporary mistress.

"Good night to you, Lady Guinevere," Elaine said curtly. "Thank you for showing me the way."

_It is not that simple, Elaine. _Instead of releasing the girl's arm, Guinevere used all the strength that ran in her blood, all the things the Picts had ever taught her, and pressed Elaine into the stone wall. She was pleased when Elaine's eyes widened with apparent alarm, and then with fear. If she thought Guinevere was going to kill her, she was truly ignorant, but it was all the better that way. She would not do anything of the sort. She was going to make her point clear – that was all. "Arthur is mine, Lady Elaine, and you would best remember it. I do not say that out of jealousy, or spite. He saved my life. He pulled me from the rubble of a Christian's so-called mercy. And we love each other. Arthur is my life, and you cannot take my life from me."

They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. Elaine's blue eyes narrowed. The fear Guinevere had read in those deep, azure pools began to ebb away, replaced by something inexplicable – pity. And contempt. As though it was _Guinevere_ who was groveling at some man's feet, trying to impress them and woo them away from their lover. No. There was something darker there. Something that struck her as sinister, and made her shiver imperceptibly.

"Oh, no, Lady Guinevere," Elaine murmured in a soft, eerily benevolent voice. "I would not dream of such a thing." She took advantage of the new slackness in Guinevere's arms – the fear _she_ had so suddenly instilled in her adversary – and slipped away, closing the door sharply.

Her breathing became labored. She had no idea what to make of all this. What was Elaine plotting? Hardly anything struck terror in her heart, but the maliciousness in her rival's eyes… It was nothing she had seen from someone who claimed to be a docile, obedient Christian. But she _had_ seen that sort of look before, and was reminded painfully of her brutal imprisonment at the hands of men who claimed to be acting in the name of their God. They claimed they were doing it to save her soul. They were wrong: it had been Arthur, Arthur and his knights, who had given her reprieve. Not the Christian's God, who had not lifted a finger to save her from the miserable conditions that had rendered her half-dead.

Then, she had wanted to flee anywhere from that expression, full of hatred and condescension. Now, where could she flee? It hadn't lasted more than a few moments, and complaining to Arthur would seem childish. Would he even believe her? He could accept that Elaine was a silly girl with a father hungry for power and position…but he would never accept using the word "evil" to describe her.

Guinevere walked slowly back to her own room, lingering in the doorway. The men were probably still laughing and joking…expecting her. But she could not go back there. Not now. Instead, she pulled back the coverlet and laid down without pulling off her gown or worrying about her hair. She wished her father was there. Merlin would know what to do. He always did. But she had just seen him that same day – and come back to Hadrian's Wall with a warning. _If there is something malicious in Elaine, would he have kept silent about it?_ That reassured her slightly. She was letting her imagination get away with her – she was remembering all the heartless Christians who had ever hurt her creep into how she saw little Elaine.

And with that thought, repeating it continually in her mind, she slowly fell into slightly troubled dreams.


	4. The Hunt

**A/N:** I'm kind of basing this idea off of a fantasy book I read. I wanted to include more in this chapter, but when I got to the end, it seemed...right to end there, if you will. Still kind of short. Bear with me.

**Disclaimer: **I still own nothing. Don't sue.

* * *

Guinevere was shaken awake by one of her ladies in the morning. The sun was barely up, but the golden light steaming in her tiny window nevertheless pained her eyes. She squinted and looked around in confusion. The woman was laying a gown out for her, all smiles. "Antonia, what is going on?" she asked softly. She enjoyed rising early – but she felt as though her wine had not been watered down the previous night, as though she had been practicing swordplay until midnight with Bors. But she had gone to sleep as soon as she had gotten away from – from Elaine. The very name made her headache sharper, and she massaged her forehead gently as she sat up.

"My lord Arthur has called for a morning hunt," Antonia chattered. "He thought you would be pleased. It will be a chance to escape from the Lady Elaine." Her maid smiled knowingly at her. "Come, milady, you must look your best for him. He means to please you!"

Like a scolded child, Guinevere forced herself to rise. Antonia tenderly removed the now-stiff green gown from the evening before and replaced the velvet with more breathable wool, still in a vibrant color – this time, scarlet. As her maid tied the laces tightly and began to plait her dark curls, Guinevere closed her eyes. Scarlet, like Arthur. The color was _his_ color, the exact same shade as that cloak he always wore. Hugging her arms to herself, she could practically smell him. His desire to please her, his love, chased away her thoughts of the disquieting encounter with Elaine the previous evening. It chased away the weariness that had seeped into her very bones, and made her eager to run out and face the sunlight. She wanted to run out into his arms.

As soon as Antonia had helped her slip on her soft leather boots, she smiled at the aging woman and rushed out the door. The corridor seemed strangely deserted, and though she knew it would be wise to eat before she went on the hunt, there was no time. No stalling. Elaine was probably out there, flirting in her shy Christian way, eager to claim the attention of Arthur away from his absent lover. Surely she had been imagining that malice in the girl's eyes the night before.

Then again, perhaps not. Guinevere slowed to a walk as she approached the training grounds, eager for her quiver of arrows and her bow. None of the men were as proficient as she with them. But a firm hand on her shoulder stopped her. She glanced behind her, and found Elaine's stone-faced father standing there. Oh, of course. He would not approve of any woman putting themselves ahead of men, or equal to them. He would not want Guinevere to prove she could do anything his daughter could not. It took all her effort, every drop, to smile pleasantly at him. His very presence made the sun shine less brightly. She resented the man, had since the moment he'd arrived. His ambition meant nothing to her, and she did not care – no, she sincerely hoped – that she was spoiling it.

Guinevere cleared her throat. "May I help you, my lord?"

"I would be much obliged if you would accompany my daughter today as we ride, Lady Guinevere. She enjoys your company so, you are as a sister to her – please, I am sure you will go on many more invigorating hunts with Lord Arthur. But Elaine will lose herself in these woods. I know her." His smile seemed genuine, and Guinevere knew she could not refuse. Her excitement about the hunt died then and there. Riding with Elaine, she would be forced to endure the girl's ceaseless ramblings about nothing, and she would not be by Arthur's side.

She nodded, trying to seem gracious. "Certainly, my lord. I will not let your daughter lose herself." Before he could thank her, she wrenched her shoulder away from his grasp. Simply because she could not ride alongside her love did not mean she could not at least bid him a good morning.

As always, Arthur's eyes lit up upon seeing her. Elaine was lingering nearby, eyes narrowed ever so slightly in their direction. Bors, Galahad, and Gawain were around him, as ever, but talked amongst themselves, hardly paying any mind to Guinevere. Men such as these were not concerned with propriety. They allowed Arthur his love, as he allowed them theirs. She leaned up to kiss him, putting a hand on his cheek. He grinned rather boyishly at her. "I hope this was a pleasant surprise for you, my love."

_A pleasant surprise indeed, but a sorry reality._ Guinevere would not mention how reluctant she had been to wake. How frightened she had been the evening before. What hideous memories had tormented her before she fell into her dreams. "Yes, of course," she echoed, a ghost of a smile playing on her full lips. His face told her he was satisfied. "Of course," she repeated, more strongly. "You know I enjoy hunting." Only half conscious of it, Guinevere looked over her shoulder at Elaine. The woman stood there in a gown of paler red, probably more poorly dyed, yet her golden hair hung loose down her back. It glistened like the morning sun, and all of a sudden, Guinevere felt a pang of envy. Arthur's eyes followed hers and drew her chin away. He kissed her brow.

"Then let us go." Apparently, he was unaware of her promise, or eager to leave. Once Arthur made up his mind about something, it was done.

She watched him walk to his horse and climb into the saddle. His knights followed suit, never breaking their conversation, though Galahad seemed to watch rather than speak. Her eyes met his for a brief moment, though she had never been particularly fond of him. He alone gave her an encouraging sort of grim smile, and Guinevere drifted back to her own stallion, swinging onto his back easily. Elaine's father was forced to give her a hand before she could mount properly, and he walked briskly forward to catch up with the other men. Only when she eyed the girl again, nudging her heels into the stallion's side, did she notice Elaine rode sidesaddle. _A useless skill,_ she thought scathingly.

They rode wordlessly behind the men, both avoiding the other's gaze. Guinevere was relieved that her unwanted companion did not see the need to fill this silence with empty prattle. At least, until they reached a little stream which flowed through the heart of the wood. The path turned away from it, but Elaine was preoccupied. She gazed down at the bubbling brook, the water a song against the pebbles on the streambed. She sighed. "This is a lovely place. Will you show me where this leads, Lady Guinevere?"

There was nothing she would rather have done less. Wondering if Elaine was simply desperate to separate them from Arthur, who was so clearly ignorant of her, she shrugged and obliged the curious girl. Leading the way, Guinevere wove her stallion through the thickening trees, following the path of the stream. It became wider, deeper, and could have passed for a small river by the time the two women emerged from the forest. She wondered at having never noticed before. But Elaine was correct in saying it was lovely. Guinevere dismounted and led her stallion to drink from the clear water. It glistened in the young daylight. Elaine followed suit, sliding down easily and gracefully. They remained blissfully silent. If nothing else could be said in her benefit, Guinevere thought, at least this sill Christian girl had some appreciation of nature.

The two of them strolled through the long grasses by the water's edge, until Elaine spoke again. "How did you meet Arthur and his knights?" There was such genuine curiosity in her voice that Guinevere felt compelled to answer. The memory caused her pain, yet the beauty of this meadow banished those shadows to just that, a harmless echo of the past.

"He rescued me. A rich Roman man captured me and a small boy from my people. Lucan. He threw us into a dungeon, sealed off the entrance…left us there to rot. But Arthur would not leave us there when he came to rescue the Roman and his family from the Saxons, when they invaded the North. He saved my life, and Lucan's. He healed my hand…and my heart." Guinevere sighed. It had been so very easy to fall in love with Arthur. And _how_ she loved him!

Elaine's sigh succeeded hers. Her eyes were somewhere far away. But then she stopped walking abruptly. Guinevere kept going for a few paces more, then turned to face her, curious herself. It was impossible not to notice that the young woman across from her looked painfully beautiful, wide, innocent, periwinkle eyes, so different than the flashing ones from the night before. Rose gown, rosy cheeks; ivory skin and hair that looked as though it was spun of flax. Why had she confided in this girl? She was such a rival. Yet how could Guinevere truly be doubting Arthur? He would not abandon her. He had saved her, and given his heart to her. They were married in all but name, were they not? _Name and act, _she reminded herself quietly.

Finally, her voice light as a summer breeze, Elaine breathed, "It is so very romantic, Lady Guinevere. What I would not give to understand a love like yours."

Well, they could pretend, at least, that they were not vying for the heart of the same man. As if there was any vying involved on Guinevere's part. Steeling herself, she allowed Elaine to take her arm, and they continued to walk, farther and father away from the horses. Away from their men. Away from anyone. The thought hardly occurred to her. Guinevere did not have anything to fear. She was a Pict, Merlin's daughter, and the Picts surely watched these nearby woods and the surrounding areas. It only made sense.

Caught up in her thoughts as she was, Guinevere did not notice when she stepped too closely to the bank of the wide stream. Her foot sank into the water, and she felt Elaine's arm pull away from hers. While she should have been able to easily return to dry ground, something propelled her back; she lost her footing entirely. Cold water immersed her, soaking her to the bone. Elaine simply stood there, watching impassively. As she stared at her dark-haired companion, Guinevere felt the weight of the water become heavier. She could not sit up. She could not find the bottom of the stream. The current around her grew fierce and painfully icy. She drew in a sharp breath. The pale blue sky above her swirled dizzyingly. And then, the side of Guinevere's head collided with something hard. She could now barely see Elaine, but laughter, every bit as frosty as the water, drifted over her. The stream around her was suddenly scarlet, like her gown – but it was not her gown. Her eyes fluttered. Then everything dulled, and faded out to black.

* * *

Arthur had ordered them all to stop – they had lost the women. He was confident that his Guinevere was alright, but who knew about Elaine? While he hardly claimed to be fond of her, she was his responsibility while she dwelt at Hadrian's Wall. Tristan then alerted them to the sound of hooves against the sodden forest path. They all turned at once, and Arthur's heart soared. His Guinevere galloped frantically toward them, her beautiful face creased in fear. "Arthur!" she shrieked, uncharacteristically small and pale on her stallion. "It is Elaine – she, I fear she has drowned. I was not paying close enough attention. You know I am none too fond of her, but…oh, Arthur."

Her voice broke over a torrent of sobs. Swallowing hard, Arthur ordered his knights to go and search the stream for Elaine's body, or Elaine herself, if she was still alive. Then, casting a sad and deeply apologetic look towards the poor girl's father, he jumped to the ground. When he reached the side of Guinevere's mount, he gently lifted her up, out of the saddle, into his arms. She clung to him. He could not help but wonder at the dampness of her gown, but perhaps she had simply tried in vain to save Elaine.

Over Arthur's shoulder, Guinevere raised her grey-blue eyes, met those of Elaine's father. The aging man nodded once, and she grinned at him in satisfaction. She waited for a few long, agonizing moments before she spoke again.

"Arthur, my love…I fear this is not the perfect time to discuss the matter, but…if Elaine has met her fate, I pray you: let us observe this sad affair, and then be married. I cannot bear the thought of another girl trying to steal you from me. Please." Guinevere gazed up at him, with sorrowful and yet demanding eyes. "Marry me. Marry me as soon as you may. Tragedy can breed triumph. You know that…you remember the first time we met. If not for that, how could we have fallen in love? Or have you forgotten? Arthur, I have wanted to be your bride since that first day you saved me," she insisted relentlessly.

He hesitated. "But so soon? Guinevere – this is not – but…if Elaine's father…," he trailed away.

Their older companion chuckled tragically. "My lord, if anything has happened to my daughter, she would not wish you to delay your happiness. Not for the world. And if she is alive, all the more reason to celebrate." But his eyes flashed to Guinevere. She thought he could at least shed a few tears, show some grief. What sort of father stood dry-eyed after hearing his daughter had drowned?

With this, Arthur gave in. He pressed his lips gently against Guinevere's, held her even more tightly to him. "Then I will begin the preparations, my love. Anything to make you happy." He smiled, but a wary darkness lurked in his eyes. She could only assume he was uncomfortable at the thought of being wed in the shadow of Elaine's untimely end. But she would put a stop to that shortly. As soon as they were man and wife, well, what reason would he have to regret anything? She buried his face in his chest, inhaling the sweetness of his scent. Then he swung her up into the saddle before throwing himself onto his steed as well. They all but abandoned the other stallion as the three of them rode back to Hadrian's Wall, back to lament the loss of Elaine and to ready everyone for a wedding…


End file.
